


the canticle of trevelyan

by bokutoma



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Body Worship, Dorian Being Dorian, F/M, Leliana (Dragon Age) Knows All, Mage Trevelyan (Dragon Age), Religious Guilt, Trevelyan (Dragon Age) Being a Jerk, Varric Tethras Is So Done, evie is jesus basically, sebastian has a jesus kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-08-05 23:23:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 16,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16377017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bokutoma/pseuds/bokutoma
Summary: Lady of Perpetual Victory, your praises I sing!Gladly do I accept the gift invaluableOf your glory! Let me be the vesselWhich bears the Light of your promiseTo the world expectant.sebastian vael was not a stranger to sin, no, but they were long separated acquaintances, and he had not thought to meet it again.until, of course, he met the herald of andraste.





	1. i have heard the sound, a song in the stillness

_Many are those who wander in sin, despairing that they are lost forever._

_\- Transfigurations 10:1_

* * *

Sebastian Vael was certainly no stranger to sin, loath as he was to admit it, but he had put that sort of life behind him. He had served the Chantry and the people of Kirkwall faithfully for many years, and had only left them to help the people he was raised to rule and take responsibility for. He had been Prince for less than a year, but Starkhaven was flourishing in a way that it hadn't for years. He wore a crown on his brow and carried Elthina's memory in his heart; he had neither than time nor the ability to increase these burdens any further.

Sebastian Vael was not a stranger to sin, no, but they were long separated acquaintances, and he had not thought to meet it again.

Until, of course, he met the Herald of Andraste. 

She was a mage, and a supposed supporter of them as well; they greeted him like gnats flocked to a horse as he entered Skyhold for the first time. This was his initial warning, one that made him nervous. He was familiar with the Trevelyans of Ostwick, but a mage daughter was an unknown, as they had never mentioned her except in passing.

The second was the contentment he noted in each Skyhold resident's countenance. They had their quarrels: someone hadn't paid a gambling debt, the woman in the tavern had stood them up, and other such bothers. However, no complaints could be heard about the Herald, or even her advisers, save a few soldiers complaining about the workload their commander had given them. The only thing that saved Sebastian from immediately deeming them a cult was the way the people spoke about the Inquisitor's inner circle; their reactions ranged from awe and fear to disgust and irritation, and it was in this way that he knew they even people.

The third and perhaps most needed warning came far too late. He had processed as far as the entry, having been stopped no shorter than five times since reaching Skyhold's gates. He might have caused a fuss if he was still the noble brat he used to be, but as a leader, as a man who had seen some of the horrors of the world, he understood. Currently, he only had an entourage of five guards standing with him: risky in most places, but he had enough faith in the relative neutrality of the Inquisition to forego much of the pomp.

"The Inquisitor awaits, Your Highness," the Inquisition soldier said, bowing politely. "She's in her throne room."

A throne without a kingdom was odd, but he felt he should reserve judgement until he met with her. As he strode through the entryway, boots thudding satisfyingly on stone, he took note of who congregated in the space that led to the throne. Many minor nobles he recognized, but he was surprised to see the Tevinter among them. He had become quite notorious in Sebastian's circles for both religious and political reasons, and he made a note to talk to the man and assess him himself before he returned.

Had he not been a skilled people watcher, he might have missed his third warning entirely. 

He had stolen quick glances at the throne, attempting to assess the Herald before facing her in conversation. She was flanked on either side by burly men, one Qunari, one human, in what looked like an intimidation tactic that Sebastian had to admit was working fairly well. Her face was stone cold and impassive, and every inch of her posture, from her rigidly straight back to the spread of her legs, exuded power and control. She had cocked her head to the side, clearly listening to whatever the bearded man was saying to her, and that was when he caught it. A smile danced across her face, quick as lightning, but pure in its appearance, before she quickly covered it with a fake cough.

He almost missed a step, transfixed as he was by the sight before him, but he recovered due to instinct alone, and he knew he was out of his league.

A woman he had met only once before appeared in front of them, ghost-like, her vibrant hair shadowed by her hood. "Prince Sebastian," she purred, Orlesian accent adding extra melody to his name. "Lady Montilyet is indisposed at the moment, so i hope I serve as an adequate replacement."

"Sister Nightingale," he said, inclining his head in respect. "It's good to see you well. I have no objections, and am certain that you will serve as an exemplary ambassador in Lady Montilyet's stead."

Her lips turned up in a secretive smile that held hints of private amusement whose source he wasn't certain he even wanted to guess at. "Follow me, then, Your Highness." She spun on her heel sharply, navigating the crowd with ease, Sebastian trailing her like a royal shadow.

There were fewer people milling about the closer they got to the throne, something he thought he understood. The Tevinter was now up on the dais with her, noting something that made her nod gravely, before he stood beside the Qunari. There was something beyond mere power that lent mystery and importance to the Herald; despite her fine clothes, she seemed as solemn as any soldier, and the mere idea that she had such disparate peoples working together in close proximity lent truth to her title.

When he got to an appropriate distance, he bowed deeply, figuring that erring on the side of manners was better than otherwise. "My lady Herald," he said when he rose, and he was surprised to realize that he meant it. "It is an honor to finally meet you. I have heard nothing but good things, and Skyhold has thus far lived up to its talk."

The Herald inclined her head. "Prince Sebastian. I have not visited Starkhaven since I was a girl, yet I was still saddened to hear of the tumult within. I hear that the city thrives once more under your rule, and I am glad to hear it."

"You are too kind, my lady." He found it hard to meet her eyes, harder still to look away. He traced the lines of her face with his gaze, stomach clenching in response. 

He was ruined.

"Unfortunately, I don't have time at the moment to meet with you personally, but I wanted to be here to greet you upon your arrival," the Herald said. "I understand you know Sister Nightingale. She has Josephine's schedule, and will thus be able to help you select a time for us to meet and discuss our mutual alliance."

"Thank you, my lady Herald," he said, giving another boow.

She stood up, turning her head slightly. "The Iron Bull," she called, and the Qunari stepped up to her side. "I trust you can show Prince Sebastian around while I attend to other matters?"

"Yes, boss," the man rumbled, and Sebastian had to wonder if this was another play at intimidation. "I'll give him the tour of his life."

The Herald's lips twitched almost imperceptibly. Sebastian only noticed because he had been staring at them. "An adequate one will do," she said. "Prince Sebastian, thank you for meeting with me. I shall see you again shortly."

With that, she descended the dais and entered a hall to the side, the Tevinter and the other man trailing her. 

Leliana stepped up beside him, the same ghost of a smile touching her face. "You'll have to forgive her, Your Highness. She has many flocks to tend to."

"Aye, I suspect she does," he agreed.

"I leave you in the Iron Bull's capable hands. A word of advice, though: you may be able to hold your liquor well, but don't try to outdrink him, or even touch the same drinks he does. You will most certainly lose that battle."

"Aye," Sebastian nodded, watching the Iron Bull's approach with some trepidation. "I suspect I would."


	2. the echo of Your voice, calling creation to wake from its slumber

_Steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked, make me to rest in the warmest places_

_\- Transfigurations 12:1_

* * *

Sebastian was utterly, thoroughly exhausted by the time the Iron Bull had finished showing him the wonders of Skyhold. They had skipped fairly quickly over most things, stopping for longer only at those places which seemed to directly appeal to his Qunari guide's sensibilities, such as the trebuchets and the armory.

Finally, they had gone to what had apparently been the Iron Bull's destination the whole time - the Herald's Rest. Once there, the Qunari had claimed that the best way to understand a cause was to drink with the people who served it, and ordered a drink for Sebastian's entire entourage.

"I don't drink," Sebastian had protested.

"Is that so?" The Iron Bull phrased this less as a question than as a statement, and Sebastian briefly wondered how much of his apparent brutishness was simply an act. "I heard you used to be a brother in the Chantry. Well, I'm sure you drink at ceremonies. The issue is in excess, right? One glass won't hurt."

He hadn't argued for fear of appearing rude, but when the barmaid brought them each a flagon of foul smelling liquor, he had immediately regretted his decision.

Now he was paying for it, head aching much like the way it used to after a night of carousing, and he was to meet privately with the Herald when the sun sank below the western wall. He had sent one of his guards for a hangover cure, but he still had to wait for it to work, and in the meantime, he was stuck. All he could think about was the lithe beauty of the Herald, solemn and stern in the face of all she had to accomplish. She was a figure worthy of respect, he already knew.

"Your Highness," a guard called. "The sun has nearly passed the wall."

Sebastian looked up from the wall whose cracks he had been following as he ruminated and checked the window. "So it has," he agreed. "Thank you for alerting me."

"Would you like one of us to accompany you, my prince?"

"No. You all may retire to your own quarters now. I'll let you know when I have further need of you."

With that, he left, eager to finally meet personally with the Herald. She  _was_ holy, he knew, just as she claimed to be. The part of him that had been silenced since leaving Kirkwall had stirred at her presence, and he craved the idea of setting it free, feeling the Maker's light once more.

The gardens were surprisingly empty considering the time, only a scattered few paying attention to the loveliness of the growth around them. The Iron Bull had told him that the Inquisitor herself planted some of the flowers that blossomed here; he wondered how she could be so busy and still have time for small beauties. 

At the far end of the garden, there was a gazebo, and it was there that the Herald waited for him, leafing through papers until he arrived. He paused for a moment, running a hand through the auburn waves of his hair, watching her with shy intensity. Now that he could take her in, really study her, he noted the complicated plait she wore her hair in, and wondered if she did it herself, twisting brown locks together to create a masterpiece. She bit her lip as she flipped a page, and he marveled at the berry stained color. He was not here to admire the aesthetics of the Herald, no, but he could not help thinking that Andraste had chosen Her voice spectacularly.

She only looked up when his boots hit stone, hazel eyes widening in surprise before she quickly recovered. "Your Highness," she greeted, tidying the papers into a proper pile. "Thank you for being so flexible with my schedule. I had to plan my next excursion while the Commander was free."

"Ser Cullen, right?" When she agreed, he nodded thoughtfully. "I met him several times in Kirkwall. He seemed...troubled, but I hear the soldiers of the Inquisition love him, and he was certainly quite an able fighter. I can think of no man who would be more dedicated to his post."

"Yes," she agreed. "He certainly is an inspiring leader." She smiled at him, but he couldn't tell why. "How funny it is that you already know so many key members of our force. You certainly are an influential man, Prince Vael."

"Sebastian will do, my lady Herald. I'm still adjusting to my title."

"Then call me Evelyn. It's been a long time since I've heard something other than my titles or surname."

"Evelyn, then." It tasted foreign on his tongue, like a secret rarely told. He thought he liked it. "As for knowing people, I can't claim any personal relationship with your advisors, but I have been fortunate enough to meet them and see their skills for myself."

"I'm glad you approve," she said. He studied her for sarcasm, but her face was impassive, serene. "I hope the Iron Bull didn't exhaust you too much. I would have offered someone a a tad more suited to diplomacy, but I needed most of them to plan."

"He was able enough," Sebastian replied diplomatically. "I'm far more impressed by your ability to have a Tevinter and a Qunari work together in such close quarters. Not to be too on the nose, but your leadership must be divine."

She laughed at that, low and clear. "Ah, Dorian. I was wondering whether you'd bring him up."

"I meant no offense-"

She rested her hand on his briefly, effectively silencing him. "I know you didn't. I understand that it's odd, the Herald of Andraste entertaining a Tevinter noble when there's such a demon as the Black Divine out there, but I have fought with Dorian, seen him desperately help avert the fate Corypheus has planned for us. If we are to model what Andraste taught us, if we are to heal the fractures in our world, then we must take help where it is offered and judge the individual on his merits, not his origins."

"Well put, Evelyn," he said quietly. "I have not met someone with ideals like yours in a very long time."

"It's simply what Our Lady would want."

He thought that this was what worship was like, the sound of her voice matching the truth of the Light. "This may be a bit off topic," he started. "But what's your favorite part of the Chant?"

She looked surprised at that, though he couldn't understand why. It seemed a natural question for a woman so holy. "The Canticle of Trials," she said. "It seems the most universally relevant."

"Mine has always been Transfigurations," he replied. "It is a solace and a comfort in the most trying of times, to know that the Maker watches his faithful."

"As it should be."

They sat in reflective silence for some time, pondering each other's sensibilities, until more footsteps sounded on the granite of the gazebo. From the growing darkness emerged the bearded man he had seen earlier at Evelyn's side, brow furrowed and manner reserved. 

"My lady Herald," he said, bowing. "I don't mean to interrupt, but Lady Montilyet is up to meeting with you, and I thought you'd like to know." He snorted. "Also, Dorian says he's going to make a spectacle of himself if you don't join him for dinner soon."

"When does he not?" Evelyn laughed, rising from her seat. She turned back to Sebastian, flashing him a smile that made his stomach drop. "All the papers on the table are yours to look over. If there's anything you'd like to revise, just let me know. I have time tomorrow, and I'm very interested in what you have to say."

A flush rose to his cheeks. "Good night, Evelyn. Thank you for indulging my curiosity."

"Good night, Sebastian," she said, smiling. "It was no trouble at all."

With that, she left, side by side with the mysterious bearded man, and Sebastian attempted to calm the beating of his heart.

Alas, he found he could not.


	3. calling creation to wake from its slumber

_And so we burned, we raised nations, we waged wars, we dreamed up false gods_

Threnodies 1:8

* * *

When Sebastian woke in the morning, he found himself longing for Evelyn's company. It was unsettling, something he wasn't used to, to want someone's presence so badly that it consumed his waking thoughts. It was unsettling, something he wasn't used to, to want someone's presence so badly that it consumed his waking thoughts. Did he dare call on her? He didn't wish to come off as presumptuous.

The morning air was cool against his skin as he stepped onto his balcony, drawing the fur blankets of his bedchamber tightly against his body. Neither the chill nor the faint tendrils of warmth that brushed tentative fingers against his face did anything to sober him, and he sighed. He had a city to attend to, people to serve, yet all he wanted was to find peace in Andraste's arms the way he did as a brother of the faith.

He had heard tell of a chapel not far from the gardens, one that was small, but had a lot of love put into it. He dressed quickly, deciding that he could spare no more time without looking upon the Lady.

The walk down to the chapel was peaceful, quiet, as things tended to be in the mornings. Over the ledge, he could see the Iron Bull, the bearded man, and an elven woman sparring, as well as the morning watch returning, but he could spot no one else, and the beauty of the hold gave him peace, even just for a moment. He traced a hand along the aged stone, felt the passage of time worn into it, and stepped over the threshold.

He was not alone in the chapel. Before the gleaming statue of Andraste most holy, there was a familiar man, furred coat ringing him like a mane, blond hair tousled and streaked with sunlight.

Sebastian could not bother a man in prayer. Instead, he knelt a polite distance away, lit one of the numerous candles, and whispered the Canticle of Transfigurations under his breath, his voice falling into the familiar, comforting cadences of the Chant with ease.

They sat like that for some time, keeping company, neither one who they used to be, until the commander of the Inquisition's forces rose. Taking his cue, Sebastian too got to his feet, a whispered prayer for Elthina the last words from his lips.

"Cullen," he said by way of greeting. "It has been a long time." 

The commander's mouth quirked into a barely there smile. "That it has, Sebastian, or should I call you Your Highness, now that you've reclaimed your family's lands?"

"There is no need for such formality between us, I should think. We both served the Maker directly for many years. The only difference now is how we spread his intent."

"Well put," Cullen said. "To be honest, I am more content with my work here than I ever could have been as a templar. There is...a sense of peace I feel, being in command. I may not always agree with the choices made by my fellows in the war room, but I can trust they aren't stark raving man."

They shared a grim laugh before Sebastian again spoke. "I envy you, truthfully," he said. "To have such a clarity of purpose, to be so close to the Maker...though your path here may have been difficult, no man could hope for a truer sign of His blessing."

"It is remarkable, isn't it? When I left my little village as a boy, I could never have dreamed of the path I am set upon now."

Sebastian opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by the sound of running footsteps on the stone.

"Found him, Inky!" the elven woman he had spied earlier called, stretching onto her tiptoes and waving before turning back to the two men. "You're in  _loads_ of trouble, big boy. Her Holy Hands looks fit to give you the lecture of a lifetime."

Sebastian had no time to prepare before a familiar voice drifted around the corner, followed by the face he had been waiting to see.

"Thank you, Sera," Evelyn said, and though he could detect no change to her expression other than a slight furrowing of her brow, the elven woman - Sera - was giggling like a madwoman, and one quick glance at the commander showed that his face had blanched considerably. "Commander, may I speak with you?"

"Can we not speak in front of Sebastian?" Cullen asked, and if Sebastian was not mistaken, he stumbled slightly over his words.

Evelyn sighed. "I would prefer to do this without an audience, but if you insist, I have no problems with it."

"Ooh, Inky, if there's already an audience, you don't mind if I stick around, yeah?"

"Sera," Evelyn said, and that was all it took before she went running back out, giggling hysterically.

"Inquisitor, I-"

"Spare me, Cullen. I'm already very frustrated with you. I don't need your excuses on top of that."

"If you'll pardon me, Evelyn," Sebastian interjected. "Just yesterday you were singing the commander's praises. What has he done that could merit such concern?"

Instead of answering, she turned to Cullen. "Care to explain?" she asked, her voice like ice.

Cullen sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "The Inquisitor is concerned that I'm not getting enough sleep," he said. "I...have a habit of working late into the night-"

"And the morning."

"Quite. The Inquisitor is worried that my health will decline if I continue my current work habits."

"So it seems you understand," Evelyn said. "Why, then, are you not resting?"

"It is...the persistent issues," Cullen said hesitantly, and Sebastian marveled at how the Inquisitor softened.

"Visit Solas. I asked him to keep a reserve of the sleeping draught that seems to help the most. Leliana is already taking care of what needs to be done today, or at least what you haven't already finished." She placed a hand on his upper arm. "Get some rest, Commander."

"Yes, Inquisitor." With that, Cullen walked off, head ducked against the wind.

"That was a very kind thing you did, Evelyn," Sebastian said, his voice clumsy as it tended to be around her.

She smiled tiredly. "I try. It's not often any of us have time to rest, so I make it for them."

"And do you do the same for yourself?"

She looked at him, surprise evident in her gaze before she dissolved into laughter. "I didn't think I'd be caught by a visiting prince, of all people."

"I know your type," he said simply. "And you have a gift and a burden far greater than most."

She studied for him for a time, her gaze inscrutable, and he found himself simultaneously shy and in awe of her beauty, his gaze drawn to the small tattoo by her eyes, the serious curve of her mouth.

"How would you like to join me today?" she asked suddenly. "I enjoy your company, and you can make certain I'm not overwhelming myself."

He fought a foolish grin from overtaking his face. Hadn't this been exactly what he wanted? "I'd be honored, my lady Herald?"

She laughed brightly, her head tilting back, and an unfamiliar feeling ran through him; he wanted to keep this moment forever.


	4. You have walked beside me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the herald and the prince talk about sex and the chant; sebastian is way over his head

_Who knows me as You do? You have been there since before my first breath, You have seen me when no other would recognize my face, You composed the cadence of my heart_

_Trials 1_

* * *

Planting flowers with the Herald was far too domestic a task for Sebastian not to make an utter fool of himself.

"Have you ever done this before, Sebastian?" Evelyn asked, a smile curling secretively across her face as she cupped some royal elfroot seeds in her hands.

"Many times, though you'd not think it to look at me now." He gazed ruefully at the irregular and lumpy hole he had dug out. "Grand Cleric Elthina used to have me plant all the flowers we'd use during services. She said I needed to learn how to be gentle."

"I have a hard time picturing you as the rough and tumble youth I used to hear about in letters from Elise." Her smile turned gleeful. "She followed your exploits fervently, and sometimes I couldn't tell whether she wanted to count herself among them, or follow in your footsteps."

"You shame me, my lady," he said, cheeks burning as he ducked his head and attempted to focus his mind on evening the dirt. "I had hoped any tales of me you might have heard would at least be muddied by several tellings in between, but Lady Elise might as well have been privy to every moment."

"She _is_ quite nosy." Evelyn crouched down beside him, closing her eyes and absorbing the midday sun. "But there is nothing for you to be ashamed of. This was a part of you, just as the prince and the brother are."

"I was filthy, unclean-" Sebastian cut himself off upon seeing her lips twitch in a barely restrained laugh. "I'm serious, Evelyn! It was nothing to be proud of."

"It's possible that you did go overboard," she allowed, nudging his hands out of the way of her own as she planted the seeds, seemingly unaware of the heat blooming in his cheeks. "But Andraste did have sex, you know."

"My lady!" Sebastian couldn't help himself from sounding utterly scandalized. If the man he had been more than a decade ago could see him now, practically clutching at his pearls as a beautiful woman spoke freely about sex with him...perhaps Evelyn was right, because dark heat licked at his spine.

"Maker, you sound like my great-aunt," she teased, nose wrinkling rather adorably. "I'm just being honest, though. Andraste had sex, most Chantry mothers I know have had sex..." Her eyes held his for a long moment, and he found himself paralyzed by her gaze. "Even  _I've_ had sex, Prince Vael, and Andraste still chose me as Her mouthpiece. There is no need to be ashamed."

He licked his lips, suddenly dry and cracked. "I see now why the Chantry pronounced you a heretic," he said. "You speak far different ideas than the Void damning sermons of my youth."

"And you?" she asked, voice so low he had to lean in to hear it. "Do you think me a heretical whore?"

"I could not bear to, my lady. I have seen your divinity with my own eyes. I would no more doubt you than I would have doubted the Divine."

Evelyn's mouth twisted into a wry grin. "Cold comfort, I'm afraid. Leliana tells me you've already done that."

"Then I will swear on the soul of Elthina."

Again, she looked surprised, hazel eyes wide, as though no one had ever gone so far for her. "I will take that declaration with the honor I must have shown to deserve it." She tilted her chin, and, with a start, he realized they were only a hand's breadth apart. His breath hitched in his throat, but if she noticed, she did not say. "You are surprisingly earnest for a prince, Sebastian."

"And you are surprisingly coy for a holy woman, Evelyn," he returned, the barest hint of a growl in his voice.

"Less surprising than you might think." With that, she stood up and dusted off her breeches, leaving him reeling. "You make better company than I could have hoped for. There are very few people I would even consider gardening with." When he did not move, she offered her hand. "Get up. I've had refreshments prepared for us."

He took it gladly and reveled in the contrast of her soft skin, interrupted by calluses where she wielded her staff, as she pulled him up. "Did you assume I would be with you all day?" he teased, hoping to provoke her.

Unfortunately, she was unbothered. "You did promise to make sure I didn't overwork myself. How are you going to do that if you seclude yourself in your room all day, doing whatever it is that former Chantry brothers do for fun?"

"Fair enough," he laughed, tipping his head back in momentary thanks to the Maker. "Where are we headed next?"

"My chambers," she stated, as nonchalant as if she were talking about the weather. "It's just about the only place where my companions might think twice before disturbing me."

"And so you choose to take me along with you when you wish to be undisturbed?"

The gaze she threw him was half-lidded, yet he still had a hard time reading her. "You are  _hardly_ a nuisance, Sebastian."

He was helpless to do anything but follow.

She navigated Skyhold with ease, nodding to each courtier they passed without breaking her stride. Evelyn was a woman on a mission, and her mission, at the moment, was him.

 _Andraste,_ he should not have thought that. Combined with their previous conversation, a flood of perverse images filled his mind, and though he did his best to stem the tide, he could not help but wonder what the bare curve of her shoulder would look like, the arch of her back, the swell of her ass...

She halted suddenly as the bearded man approached, and though Sebastian could not be sure, considering the facial hair, he though the man's cheeks heated at the wide smile she gave him.

"Blackwall!" she cried, as expressive as Sebastian had ever seen her. "What can I help you with?" When the man's - Blackwall's- eyes darted to him, Evelyn clapped her hands together. "Oh! Please forgive my poor manners. Blackwall, this is Prince Sebastian Vael of Starkhaven. Sebastian, this is Warden Blackwall, one of my dearest friends."

"Your Highness," Blackwall said cooly, his words rough with both Marcher and Ferelden notes. His bow was perfectly formal, but ended a tad higher than would be expected for a man of Sebastian's position. "My lady, I hate to trouble you, but may I speak with you for a moment?"

Evelyn shot him an apologetic glance. "I'll be just a moment, Sebastian. Duty calls."

"I understand," he replied, and settled against the wall, looking for all the world as though he wasn't about to eavesdrop on their conversation. His misspent youth had at least derived this one useful talent, and he intended to put it to good use.

A fair distance away, Evelyn laid a placating hand on Blackwall's chest, and a long suppressed part of the Starkhaven prince seethed in jealousy.

"Blackwall, I know you don't like nobility, and royalty even less, but you  _must_ play nice. Sebastian is an ally, a good man, from what I can tell. Would it kill you to be polite?"

"Forgive me, my lady," the man said, but Blackwall didn't look particularly sorry, not with her touching him, and Sebastian supposed her understood that, at least. "I will defer to your judgement, as always."

With her back to him, Sebastian couldn't see Evelyn's expression, but it must have been incredulous, given the booming laugh Blackwall let out.

"Zat man, ze Warden, he ees so handzome when he smiles, don't you zink?" a horridly familiar voice called from nearby. "Eet's a pity zat only ze Inquisitor can make it 'appen."

Sebastian did his best to look as inconspicuous as possible; there were few people he wanted to see less than the de Launcet sisters, and when Evelyn returned, he whispered urgency to her.

"Eager to get me alone, are you? My, how quickly your tune changes, Prince Vael."

When he sputtered, flushing redder than the embrium blossoms in the garden, she laughed so joyfully that he wanted to bottle the sound as a reminder.

"I am  _eager_ to not play nice any longer than I have to," he protested. "Your company is merely a pleasant side benefit."

She pulled him through a side door near the throne, and they ascended quietly to her rooms. When she opened the door, he held his breath. He hadn't been in a woman's room while she was there in what seemed like an age, and even then, it had never been without the intention to bed her. This was foreign, a complete unknown, yet he followed her, hungry, regardless.

Evelyn sank down gracefully into a plush chair by the double doors to the balcony and studied him with an unknowable gaze that could have lasted for years. He shifted under it nervously. Whatever she was searching for, he desperately hoped that he measured up.

"Make yourself at home," she finally said, gesturing to the chair nearest to her with a private smile. "I don't expect you to stand at attention for the rest of the day."

"Don't  _expect,_ you say," he returned warmly as he settled into his seat. "Yet I don't hear you saying that you would dislike it."

The laugh she gave was surprised and short, a single bell chime. "Very few people would object to having a handsome man at their beck and call, Sebastian."

The way she had spoken was so casual, and yet, as her eyes met is for the briefest of moments, electricity sang along his spine.

 _Maker,_ he wanted to kiss her. Maybe she wanted it too, from the way she had been talking all day.

That was a foolish thing to think, though. She was a holy woman, and he was a deeply flawed man. She offered guidance and consolation to a faltering member of her flock, not carnal comforts. She was Andraste's chosen, and he was only lucky to receive her attention at all.

"What troubles you, Sebastian?"

What didn't? Her mouth was curved in a thoughtful frown, and her eyes were wide and welcoming, the tattoo at the corner of the left like a crystal tear. She looked so absolutely, wonderfully desirable that it took all of his [athetic willpower not to close the distance between them.

"I am a foolish man, my lady," he said, voice hoarse.

She leaned forward, lips slightly parted. "Are you?"

He had just opened his mouth - though what he would have said, he did not know - when a knock echoed from her door.

"Inquisitor, I hate to bother you, but Leliana and I have just finished the rest of Cullen's workload for the day, and we would like your judgement on a few things before we issue all of these requisitions," Josephine called.

Evelyn stared at him, and, for a moment, Sebastian thought she would ignore the ambassador to finish their conversation.

"I'll be right along," she called back instead, and rose from her seat. Right before she left, she turned and looked at him, a small smile playing on her face as he made to leave as well.

"Let's do this again sometime," she said, and then she whirled around and left, leaving Sebastian dazed in the doorway,

 _Let's do this again sometime?_ He wasn't certain his heart could take the strain.

Somehow, he didn't think he minded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i officially have a writing blog on tumblr now! @bokutoma for commissions, questions, and maybe even spoilers :)
> 
> this is officially a fifi and babette hate account ig


	5. and by will alone drew fire from air

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sebastian hears the chant for the first time

_Through blinding mist, I climb A sheer cliff, the summit shrouded in fog, the base Endlessly far beneath my feet_

_\- Trials 1_

* * *

It was the dead of night, and still Sebastian could not sleep. The Canticle of Trials had been his whispered companion since the sun had set, yet it did very little to distract his mind from the lingering persistence of Evelyn's presence within his mind.

After everything he had done, everything he had attempted to cleanse himself of, he was still a sinner at heart.

Maker, he loathed himself.

Outside his window, light flashed, green and bright against the darkness.  _Magic,_ he thought, yet it didn't repulse him as much as it normally would.

On silent feet, he padded over to his window and saw a figure far below, a staff in one hand, glowing green emanating from the other. The opponent must have been the Iron Bull, for horns were cast into sharp relief by the physical Fade on Evelyn's hand. They danced around each other, the Qunari surprisingly agile for a man of his size, the Herald like a ribbon winding through a current.

The blunted edge of a wooden Anderfels zweihander soared down toward her shoulder, and though Sebastian knew that Evelyn was in no real danger, his heart still climbed into his throat.

At the last second, the blade slowed; no, that was inaccurate. It was more like the swing, the entire motion of the Iron Bull's body, had been dragged through molasses, sluggish and weak.

A blow that Sebastian had been certain would land now dawdled, giving the shadow of the Herald plenty of time to dart out of the way before releasing her spell, flickers of fluorescent green rift magic sparking like embers as they disappeared.

He wanted in on the fight.

It would not be proper, of course. It was one thing for the Herald to hone her skills against a trusted lieutenant in private, and quite another for the Prince of Starkhaven to be shooting arrows left and right. He hadn't been invited; he knew he should stay away from a fight. There were a thousand good reasons not to go, but he found he could not listen.

 _Evelyn,_ his heart sang.

He was helpless but to obey.

The leathers he wore were far less conspicuous than his old armor, but still clearly of high quality. Chantry symbols were embroidered in fine gold where the pieces met, and they fit him as perfectly as anything could. They were quieter than a whisper as he stole down the stairs, his grandfather's bow at his back.

How would he play this? He was embarrassed to speak the truth, afraid she would find him too bold or obsessive. Lying was not something the Maker would condone, not to His wife's chosen, but he prayed for forgiveness and hoped for the best.

The mountain air was crisp, nibbling even through the protective layers of his leathers. If there was a time for turning back, it would be now, with the chill outdoors clearing his mind.

Alas, the only thought that blew into his head was one of excitement, almost rapturous in its totality.

 _Andraste,_ he was rather useless, wasn't he?

The grounds outside the tavern were fairly well maintained, especially considering that the patronage of the Chargers alone was a nightmare for any helpless lawn, and the grass was soft and pliant beneath his boots. Low grunts and focused cries were the only sounds that pierced the air, and Sebastian moved like liquid shadow, unsure why he aimed for secrecy now.

That was a lie. He couldn't even think of what he would do should the Herald - or even the Iron Bull - see through his excuse. He wanted to spend as long as was possible in her good graces before suffering that sort of embarrassing fate.

Evelyn was...harder than he had expected in battle. Not that he had expected weakness, by any stretch of the imagination, but the mages -  _mage_ \- he knew preferred to stay out of the fray.

She seemed to revel in it, her every move precise in that way that only came from a combination of experience and love of the craft. Her staff was not merely a focus for her magic but a ranged melee weapon, darting out and smacking against the solid wall that was the Iron Bull with rapid precision. If it had been reinforced metal that she wielded...Sebastian shuddered at the thought of being her enemy.

They broke apart finally, panting like they had run for miles. This was his chance to step in; speaking was only impossible until he did it.

"May I join in?" he asked, stepping from the shadows and cursing inwardly at his inability to stop sounding like a puffed up prig for ten seconds.

"Sebastian!" Evelyn cried, though she didn't look as startled as he would have expected. "What are you doing out this late?"

He gestured to the bow on his back. "I had hoped to make use of the facilities to stay in practice," he said, lying smoothly. "I was looking for someone to ask when I heard the two of you going at it."

"I'm game for added challenge if you are, Inquisitor," the Iron Bull said, and there was something in his tone that Sebastian didn't like, something too knowing, too laced with hints of mockery.

"Of course we'd love to spar with you," Evelyn responded, and if she had heard what he had, she made no mention of it. "I must admit, I'm rather eager to see the Prince of Starkhaven's legendary skills for myself."

The Iron Bull snorted.

"Is it to be a free for all, then?" Sebastian asked.

"You two should team up. Most of my boys like to let their swords do the talking for them, so this will be good practice for me. Besides, it never hurts to let your mages and archers take a few practice hits, remind them that they  _really_ don't want to deal with the real thing." The Qunari shifted his focus to Evelyn. "By the way, you would have been dead twice had my sword been real."

"And you would have been dead before you could even touch me with the point of your sword. What's your point?"

"Fair enough." The Iron Bull shrugged and went to get padded arrows for their fight.

* * *

Fighting with Evelyn was far more exhilarating than it had any right to be. They moved together naturally, needing no more than a look to communicate their next move. Every time the Iron Bull got too close, a well placed arrow or a chill blast of energy would deter him from getting more than a couple hits in.

Evelyn laughed bright and hard against the darkness, and Sebastian had never felt more full.

Eventually, they called it quits, the Iron Bull laughingly granting them victory before heading back into the tavern to turn in for the night. Sebastian and Evelyn sat outside for some time, cooling off in comfortable silence. The moons were bright, and the space between them was electric, so he did the thing he had most wanted to do since he first laid eyes on her.

He kissed her.

Though he had been the one to initiate, Evelyn was in control from the start. His mouth parted readily as she turned them so she could guide him back toward the ground, one hand knotted firmly in the auburn waves of his hair.

He must be dreaming.

Just as he was beginning to go limp beneath her, she pulled away, and he stifled the embarrassingly disappointed noise that surely would have escaped him otherwise. His every nerve was on fire, and his heart sang with the Chant; why did she stop?

"Get some sleep, Sebastian," she said, her voice gentle yet commanding, unswayable. "I expect to meet with you in my chambers in the morning."

 _Maker,_ he wasn't going to make it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @chellick // @bokutoma


	6. is she truly the servant of a god?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> evelyn, everything will die for you

_All heads bow! All knees bend! Every being In the Realm of Opposition pay homage, for The Maker of All Things returns to you_

_\- Exaltations_

* * *

Morning could not come fast enough, impatient as Sebastian was. He did not know if he had read her correctly, had to reassure himself that their embrace was real and not a figment of his overworked imagination, but there was no fabricating the excitement his body felt at the remembrance of her kiss.

She had not been gentle, and, to his surprise, he had not wanted her to be.

Perhaps it was the Maker's cruel justice that he had become so infatuated with an agent of His wife after the sinful life he had led. Was he a corruption? She had not been the one to initiate; it had been  _he_ who wanted her so badly he could no longer stand it.

Then he remembered the power of her words as she spoke to her congregation, the army of the faithful, and stood relieved.

If this was how the Maker saw fit to cleanse him, then so be it. He would be taking no one else down in his wake.

The light of dawn seeped gently into the star streaked sky, and it was with great effort that Sebastian forced himself not to run for the Herald's chambers.

That would not be the way to comport himself in front of the woman whose blessing he desired above all else.

A new, horrifying thought occurred to him then. What if he was misreading the whole situation?

Certainly, had he been in any other situation, he would have been able to tell what she sought in an instant; you could put a man in the Chantry, but you couldn't take away his instincts, try as he might to pray them away.

He had been beaten, cajoled, threatened, and conversed with for the sake of his soul, but he could not seem to curb his carnal wants.

Why would a holy woman desire him at a level so base?

He could not go, and yet he must. By the time he had finished begging his body not to betray him, the rose hued fingers of morning had encircled the horizon, and he could go.

Skyhold was not so quiet as he would have thought, this early in the morning, but neither was it particularly busy, and so it was only a few servant who saw the Prince of Starkhaven's nervous trek to the Inquisitor's rooms. Even Blackwall, a man Sebastian had begun to believe hung as the Herald's shadow, was nowhere in sight.

This felt all too final.

When he reached the door to her private chambers, he felt as though he had been laid bare for all to see. The reminder that it was just Evelyn did little to soothe his quaking heart.

He rapped his knuckles three times against the door and listened to the way the hollow ringing reverberated through the hall. The door swung open after a moment, but there was no one on the other side.

"Enter," called a familiarly feminine and clear voice from the top of the stairs that laid beyond, and so he did.

It was by sheer willpower alone that he hadn't sunk to the ground from nerves before he reached the top, but when he did, he had to prevent himself from gasping audibly.

The Herald's chambers were luxuriously decorated without appearing gaudy, an eclectic mix of every culture available to her combining into a coherent whole that, had she been anyone else, he would be certain Madame de Fer or Lady Montilyet had had a hand in. However, the rich decorations were not what had drawn his attention so.

No, that honor belonged to the Herald alone. Though she still wore her nightdress, one of a peach cream color that suited her darker skin wonderfully, she had tied a rich purple robe over it, one that didn't actually cover much, come to think of it. There was a sheer panel of fabric stretched from her bust all the way up to her neck, and the expanse of skin thus revealed caused an ache to bloom sharply in his stomach.

"How are you fairing this morning, Sebastian?" Evelyn asked when he again found the strength to look her in the eye, and he wondered at her calm. Did she so often stand in front of her men and followers like this? The thought sent a bolt of possessive longing though him like lightning from her hands.

It was inappropriate in a myriad of ways, ones that shook him to his core; although the man Sebastian had been once had these feelings, they had never been quite so severe.

"A bit sore," he said instead, realizing he'd left too long of a pause in the conversation. "It's to be expected, though, considering the night we had."

He only realized the error of his words when a small smile curled across her lips. He blushed, attempted to sputter out an explanation, but she held out her hand to stop him.

"Peace, Sebastian. I know what you meant." Still, the same, almost satisfied smile remained present on her face. "Take a seat."

"What did you wish to speak with me about?" he asked. The morning light caught the translucent part of her nightdress, made it paper thin in its golden rays, and though it exposed nothing indecent, his mouth dried considerably, fear and lust mingling into inexorable confusion.

The tilt of her mouth twisted his insides. "Don't play coy," she said, and though it should have sounded pleading or insistent, he just heard a command, one he was helpless but to obey.

"My-my lady!" he stuttered, wondering when he had lost all control of everything.

"What do you see when you look at me, Sebastian?"

Briefly, he wondered if this was a trap, but the curious look in her eyes betrayed nothing but that.

"I see the Maker's light," he said. "A guiding force in murky times."

"And is that all you see?" Her eyebrow lifted fractionally, just enough to convey her point, and it was a politician's move he'd seen a thousand times over; sometimes he forgot her noble breeding.

He knew she spoke of his fit of passion the night before, but he could not bring himself to speak a word of it. "Yes."

"So your eagerness is for the warmth of the Maker." Though she smiled warmly, he still could not tell what she was thinking. "Then all is as it should be."

"My lady, I must confess to unchaste thoughts-"

"Sebastian," she said, and he quieted. "The Maker will aid His devoted servants however he can, and he will not give a heavy load without a way to bear it."

"I do not understand.""

"You have struggled to remain pure, haven't you? Though your spirit has repented, your body and your mind remain sullied."

She saw right through him.

"I am the Herald of Andraste, and you carry impure thoughts about me, do you not?"

Fearing what would come out of his mouth if he opened it, he merely nodded.

"Then be at peace. I asked Our Lady for guidance, and she whispered to me that my heart was right. If you'd like, you may return to your chambers and forget that we ever spoke. You do not need to accept my help. Should you choose it, though, I will turn your thoughts toward the heavens once more."

His throat closed up and he sucked in a gasping breath. "My lady Herald, you cannot mean..."

"Whatever you desire." She leaned forward slightly, and his eyes flickered downward before he met her eyes again, the hazel color darker somehow. "You will expend your sin in me, and I will, in turn, ask Our Lady to replace that exaltation with that of His word."

"Surely that is inappropriate, though!" The telltale stirrings of arousal pooling in his gut tasted like shame and desire in the back of his throat.

"I am merely providing you with options."

Oh  _Maker,_ the fervency with which he wanted to accept was paralyzing. 

"Can I..." He cleared his throat. "Can I have some time to think about it?"

Her smile was close lipped and gentle. "Of course. You need not even tell me your answer. I will know one way or another soon enough. I trust, however, that this will not impede our working relationship."

He shook his head vigorously, all too aware of how off balance he was. "I am as dedicated to your cause as ever, my lady."

"Good." She nodded her head decisively, as though coming to a decision. "I'll see you later, then."

On shaking legs, he departed, never noticing the grin that spread across her face with his back turned, wicked and victorious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr: @bokutoma // @chellick
> 
> twitter: @deracinatin


	7. world fell away, misty in mem'ry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> stay with me, evelyn; don't leave me with the medicine

_A vision of all worlds, waking and slumb'ring, Spirit and mortal to me appeared, "Look to My work," said the Voice of Creation, "See what My children in arrogance wrought."_

_\- Andraste 1:10_

* * *

What Sebastian would have given to have met Evelyn when he was still immoral.

Logically, he knew there would have been little reason for them to meet and even less for her to have taken any interest in him; she had been an Ostwick Circle mage, and though she was talented enough to have become a court enchanter, he had been a third son and a rake to boot. She must have been holy even then, and she would have scorned the sight of him.

Still, at least then he would not have felt so guilty about her offer. She knew his sin, had seen right through his struggle, and had offered him a way out that tasted like sin.

 _Maker,_ he ached for it more than anything.

 _Andraste had sex too, you know,_ she had said. Even then, lustful thoughts had raced through his head; he had wanted to push her to the ground and claim her mouth with his own.

Who was he to doubt her word? He was a lecher who was still paying back his numerous sins. Perhaps this truly was the way to exhume the carnal needs that were built up inside of him.

It was an observance of those feelings, he decided. A chore, and nothing more. He would not partake of the joys of her, spread out and keening beneath him. He would not mar the warmth of her skin with bruises and love bites. He would not enjoy himself.

Mind made up, he sank to one knee and rocked back and forth in supplication, desperately praying for the strength to follow through.

* * *

 

He could not speak to her that day, for his duties were too numerous, nor could he the day following, as he met with Sister Nightingale and Ambassador Montilyet to discuss what Starkhaven could do for the Inquisition, and what they in turn would improve for his people. He had been horribly distracted the entire time, and more than once, Lady Montilyet had called for refreshments to politely attempt to aid his wandering mind. When they had finished, determinations of troops, food, and gold squared away, he pulled Sister Nightingale to the side.

"Where is Ev-the Lady Herald?" he asked, and knew the bard had caught his mistake.

"Likely in meetings with our commander, Your Highness, as well as those who will be accompanying her on her next mission."

He did not know what possessed him, but he found himself blurting out, "Like Blackwall?"

A woman like Leliana did not laugh, but there was a distinct merriment to the twinkle of her eye when she answered.

"Yes," she said, sounding far too pleased. "Like Blackwall." 

Like a thing possessed, he could not help but repeat the Maker's name under his breath, hoping to ward off the powerful surges of jealousy that crashed in his chest.

 _It was not his place._ He was a tool of the Maker,  _and she would never be his._

Sebastian knew it was impossible given its duration, but he felt as though he had prayed the entirety of the Chant to no effect.

He wasn't quite sure when the idea of her being untied to him had become so hard to swallow.

* * *

In the darkness of the barn, Blackwall was content to whittle. It was what he was good at - the  _only_ thing he felt he was good at, sometimes, and to watch something beautiful emerge from nothingness was a rarity for a man like himself.

Lady Evelyn melted out of the shadows like a dream creature, and privately, he wondered if these little occurrences were becoming less rare after all.

"Working hard, Blackwall?" she asked, the same curious tilt to her mouth that seemed to be ever present when she looked at him. It was, perhaps, the closest she regularly came to an honest smile.

It warmed him in a way he understood all too well that he was the cause.

"Always, my lady." Though he was going for wry humor, there was a painful amount of honesty to his words. He had joined the Inquisition for the ideals it embodied, and executing them would have been more than enough to earn his unswerving loyalty.

Then he had come to know its leaders, and he knew he would stay as long as he could.

"Good." She settled on the bench across from him, long, elegant body the very image of her noble breeding. He should hate her, hate everything her family name stood for.

He couldn't.

Blackwall had begun teaching Inquisitor Evelyn Trevelyan, Herald of Andraste and quite possibly the busiest person alive, per her request. He wasn't entirely sure why she wanted to learn, or why she had asked him to teach her, given that she could certainly find an expert who would be overjoyed to associate with a powerful person in any capacity, but when he had asked, she had just smiled and said there was no one else she would rather learn from.

Evelyn - for that was how he had started to think of her - wouldn't show him the piece she had been working with off and on for the past week. Every time he had reached for it, hoped to distract or outwit her to see, she had laughed and danced away from him, wood carefully concealed in her sleeve.

"How am I meant to see what needs improving?" he had wheedled. "I can't tell you what needs fixing if I don't even know what the blasted thing looks like."

"I learn by watching you," she had retorted, sticking her tongue out childishly. "Keep going and mind your own business, else you'll impede my skill growth."

From anyone else, that would have been absolute bullshit. From Evelyn, he knew it to be the truth.

"You're leagues away, Ser Blackwall," Evelyn said, jolting him from his reverie. The tone of her voice was teasing, to be certain, but there was a fondness there that warmed him deeply. "A copper for your thoughts?"

"Are they worth so little to you?" he joked. The smile on his face, unpracticed as it was, felt more like a grimace, but she laughed, and that was all that mattered.

"I believe we could haggle, if you'd like, but I would rather unveil my carving to you, if you're interested."

It was a bit ludicrous, how easily that piqued his interest. "Alright, then. Show me your masterpiece."

Evelyn pressed it into his hand, and the first thing he could tell was that it was flawed. Not horribly; she was far more adept than most beginners, as he had come to expect from her, but the edges were not quite smoothed, and he could feel where splinters would form. Still, he could brush the pads of his fingers against the curve of a wing, and it was skillfully made.

All such analytical thoughts flew out of his head, however, upon opening his hand. When he saw what she had carved, he touched on something like religious euphoria.

In his palm, nestled like a relic of legends long dead, was a griffin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr: @chellick // @bokutoma
> 
> twitter: @deracinatin


	8. most favored of my disciples

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tumblr: @bokutoma // @chellick
> 
> twitter: @deracinatin
> 
> should i post my reddit?? i've been lore dumping in r/dragonage a lot lately  
> sebastian is a dumb idiot w no gaydar and dorian refuses to correct him for the Drama

_Here lies the abyss, the well of all souls, From these emerald waters doth life begin anew, Come to me, child, and I shall embrace you, In my arms lies Eternity_

_\- Andraste 14:11_

* * *

In Sebastian's dreams, Evelyn was wanton,  _wanting._ She begged for a taste of him, spread her legs with shameless need, and never paid any attention to that cursed Blackwall. High color painted her face as a rose, and wherever he touched her, she was as soft as her hands had been.

In the three nights he took to make his decision, he burned against the coolness of his bedsheets, face flushed and mind racing. In the three mornings he endured before giving in, he woke with himself in hand, the whisper of a plea ghosting across his lips and dissipating into the cold mountain air.

He was godless.

He wanted to know what Evelyn sounded like when she came undone.

Finally, on the fourth morning, there were no meetings to contend with, nor any distractions, whether in the form of doubts or unwanted bodyguards.

She was to leave for Halamshiral in a week; if he did not act now, he feared he would never follow through.

That could no longer be an option.

Again, he rose at dawn, cock at full attention. Again, guilt gnawed at his stomach. This time, however, he let it bleed into something wild, something red-lipped and full. This time, he touched himself, and the sensation was so foreign after years of self-imposed torture that he nearly lost himself on the spot.

Teeth digging into the plush of his bottom lip, he managed to stave it off, and heat lanced up his spine like a thousand tiny lightning bolts branching into his nerves.

Another couple strokes, and his inhale was a pained hiss, each labored breath a lovely struggle for control. If he closed his eyes, he could picture an upturned face at the edge of his bed, berry stained lips slightly parted, hands held out, palms upturned like she was waiting for him to give her his release.

Guilt doused the tentative flames of his arousal more effectively than any cold bath. A familiar, matronly voice echoed in his head, and though he was still too lust-addled to parse the remembered words from nonsense syllables, he felt the sting of a lash all too clearly, and shame diluted any remaining embers until there was nothing left but choking black smoke.

 _Maker,_ he must have been born a bastard in spirit, if not in truth, because his blood ran hotter than flame.

He needed this curse expelled.  _Immediately._

* * *

Would that the walk to the Herald's rooms didn't feel like a trap, like every eye was on him. Sebastian thought he caught the sight of a full, dark beard and had to resist the urge to hunch over like a scolded child.

It was early, yes, but loud laughter poured from the tables, and he caught sight of the mercenary group the Inquisition had hired banging flagons of ale against sturdy wood.

One eye met both of his in turn, and a Qun-touched mouth curved vicious and knowing.

Maker, the warriors in this place were out for blood.

The Iron Bull lifted his own drink; were Sebastian not watching, he wouldn't have caught it, so subtle was the twitch of his wrist, but he knew it was no accident or casual movement.

It was a challenge. It was an answer.

He chewed the inside of his lip, debating nonsensical things in his head, but answered the way he had once acknowledged a friend.

His nod was quick, decisive, and the Qunari's half-smirk widened into something feral, a predator acknowledging the guts of a maybe-prey.

Sebastian carried on, a chill replacing whatever warmth had been coaxed from his illicit activities. Though they were a force for good, Skyhold was a den of lions, and he was stealing into the lair of its leader.

The air seemed thicker today, like it could reach out with icy fingers to choke him for one misstep. Foreboding seeped from unforgiving stone, leaching moisture from his already cold-cracked lips only to replace it with the kiss of fear. Another set of footsteps echoed along the walls.

"Fancy meeting you here, Your Highness," called a familiarly strange voice, exaggeratedly lilted with Tevinter notes. He would call it a purposeful ridicule, but with the general attitude of Evelyn's allies, it would be a redundancy.

"Altus Dorian Pavus, I presume." Sebastian was careful to keep his tone light; the politics of Tevinter were as precarious as Orlais, with the added risk of blood magic.

"Oh, no wonder you're all our resident nobles can talk about. Handsome, pious,  _and_ educated? I was beginning to think such a thing was impossible to find."

"You're far too kind," he replied, careful to keep the biting sarcasm to a minimum. Everything about the Pavus heir sang of haughty superiority; many had informed Sebastian of the snakelike tendencies of Halward Pavus, but his son was a whole new breed of viper. Content with his power, appearing perfectly relaxed even with poison dripping from his tongue...Yes, Dorian was an altogether different animal.

Even now, as he had to look down the staircase to lock eyes with the ruler of Starkhaven, he still held the illusion of turning up his nose, as though the very presence of a Marcher offended him.

"Yes, well, I  _am_ known for my excess of charm," Dorian replied, and as Sebastian caught the wry twist of his mouth, he briefly wondered if they could have been friends in another life. "You're here to see our darling Evie, then?"

Any burgeoning feelings of friendship fled him in an instant. Evelyn was the least formal he had ever heard someone be with the Herald, but a nickname, and from a  _man,_ no less...

"Aye," he said, frostiness coating both his words and his posture. "I assume she's in?"

The Tevinter altus's eyes sparkled with mirth. "Oh, yes. I believe she'll be happy to see you. If one is not a necromancer, it becomes  _so_ dull to discuss its intricacies, don't you think?"

"Sure," Sebastian muttered sourly, stomping up the stairs once more. "Another time, then?"

"Of course, Prince Vael." Dorian seemed to be suppressing a grin, damn him. "I'll be awaiting our next encounter with baited breath."

"I'm sure you will be," he grumbled, then took the stairs two at a time. The fewer chances he had to run into an accursed Inner Circle member, the better, both for his own health and theirs.

Still, when confronted with the unsympathetic wood of the door, he could not help but wish for some conviction, some clear and obvious sign of rightness.

He tilted his head toward the ceiling and waited for some divine intervention.

Unsurprisingly, none came.

With a sigh, he nudged the door slightly ajar and knocked. Though no answer came, the heavy frame continued to swing open, so he took it as a sign of his liberty to enter and slipped inside. Feeling somewhat like an intruder, he climbed the final set of stairs.

All he could see of Evelyn was a slender, cream-sleeved arm; the rest was concealed beneath a new sturdy, high-backed chair, its proportions so unusually large that he would have mistaken it for Qunari in maker were in not for the snarling bears that capped the armrests. Avvar, then.

"My lady..." he started, unsure where to begin. "Forgive the intrusion-"

"Peace," she said, though her hand never stopped moving in elegant loops, scratching out orders or requisitions or whatever she did when she was alone. "I knew you were coming."

Primal fear tensed every muscle in his body, and she must have known, because she dropped her quill and stood, a small smile barely lifting the corners of her mouth.

"I didn't  _divine_ your arrival, just heard you and Dorian exchanging barbs down the hall. Speaking of which, we really must do something about your capacity for verbal sparring. It's abysmal."

"I shall have to aim to please next time. I had rather too much on my mind to spare the altus more than a mediocre exchange."

At his words, she sobered, sinking into one of the chairs by the balcony, the ones he had almost kissed her in. Though she wore brown doeskin leggings, a most practical choice, the cream blouse she had paired it with was a pleasing combination of Antivan practicality - as practical as they got, anyway - and billowing femininity.

She was so pretty that he ached to look at her.

"So I take it you've reached a decision, then?" 

Sebastian steeled his nerve, looked at the room that reflected her personality so well, looked at the fall of her hair, small curls escaping from the complex braids she had woven, and took in a deep breath.


	9. the Light is here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> yes

_All sins are forgiven! All crimes pardoned! Let no soul harbor guilt! Let no soul hunger for justice! By the Maker's will I decree Harmony in all things. Let Balance be restored And the world given eternal life_

_Exaltations 1:14_

* * *

"Yes."

One word had never terrified Sebastian so thoroughly.

"Am I to take it that you are answering both my questions at once?" Evelyn asked, her brow lifting ever so slightly.

He flushed, though she had not scolded him, and felt sweat begin to slick the palms of his hands. "Forgive me, my lady. I should have spoken more clearly, though you divined the truth."

Her face was so still, he feared he had made a mistake. "Last chance, Sebastian."

He could not look her in the eyes. "I'm certain," he said. If he had signed his own damnation, it was with open arms.

The curve of her smile was slow and all-consuming as she rose from her seat. "Good."

Sebastian had faced down monsters and demons in the company of Marian Hawke, even the men who had killed his entire damned family, Maker rest their souls. He had watched his mentor die and seen her murderer to the grave, had confronted his usurper cousin for the throne that was rightfully his, yet nothing had ever paralyzed him the way the inscrutability of those hazel eyes did.

If he moved, he would change everything.

"Come here," she ordered, and he was helpless but to obey.

"My lady, I-"

"Sebastian." The reprimand came cold, hard, and familiar from petal soft lips, and against all that was natural, all that the Maker had intended, his cock stirred. "You said you were certain. Do not make liars out of either of us."

"Yes, my lady," he said, but when he reached her, he could bear the weight no longer and sank to his knees. 

"Did I tell you to do that?" she asked archly.

He began to rise, but she threaded her hand through the waves of his hair and pushed him back down.

"No, it's good that you know your place," she said. For a moment, her eyes shone with something almost akin to kindness. "If you want to stop at any time, let me know."

He started to nod, felt a shiver run through his spine at the slight pull of his hair, but then she was tugging him up, and he was on fire.

Her kiss was a taste of something wild, something he hadn't gotten enough of that night after sparring by her side. Her fingers felt like brands, and, habitually, the old fear kicked in.

Then, he decided he did not care.

She hauled him back, and he noted that she looked no more disheveled than she had been when he first came in. Were it not for the spit-slick swollenness of her lips, one might have thought that nothing had happened at all.

On the other hand, he was certain he looked to be a complete disaster.

His hair, already wild when a slight breeze caught it, was hopelessly beyond repair, and his chest heaved, out of breath and unused to the touch of another. His breeches were doing a poor job concealing his aching hardness, and his mind spun, dizzy with feeling.

"Please," he gasped.

"Use your words, Sebastian," she said, though not unkindly. "I'm not here to guess. If you want something, tell me."

He could not do it; this had to be a test. He bowed his head, shamefaced, only to have it jerked back up, Evelyn grasping his chin and forcing him to meet her hard stare.

"There is nothing wrong with giving direction," she said firmly. "The Maker will not strike you from his ranks if you enjoy yourself."

He sucked in a heavy breath, made to touch her but then aborted the movement. "Can you...loosen your hair?"

The ghost of a smile haunted her eyes as she let him go, her hands plucking free invisible pins until, piece by piece, her hair fell in chestnut curls down to her elbows.

"Is this what you had in mind?" she asked.

" _Maker._ "

When he reached to touch it, she stilled him with a light touch at his wrist. "Let me take care of you."

Her fingers were deft at the laces of his breeches, distorted as they were by the swell of his arousal. She flicked a look at him through long lashes, hair tumbling over her shoulder, and he could not suppress a groan when he was finally freed.

Sebastian thought she would reach for him then, half-hazed memories of a youth lifetimes away guiding his instincts. Instead, she teased him as she sank to the ground, feather light touches grazing his skin as she worked both his breeches and smalls off.

"My lady-"

"Shush," Evelyn said, and when she grasped him, the world went white.

When he could see again, she was back beside him on the bed, a small smirk curling her mouth as she worked him with a firm hand.

"How long has it been since someone was intimate with you?" she probed, as though this were a usual sort of topic and their current activity commonplace. "I want to know."

" _Andraste,_ " he choked. "It's been -  _hah_ \- at least fifteen years."

Satisfied, she asked no more questions, and he did not think to ask her purpose. Her hand slowed, and before he could string a coherent thought together, his own had flashed out and covered hers, forcing her to keep moving.

She looked at him curiously. "Words, Sebastian. I'm not a mind reader."

" _Please_ keep going," he begged, and her grip tightened painfully, deliciously, all-encompassingly.

His vision turned to hear, and every possible variation of the Maker's name fell from his lips, desperate and divine. Spots clouded his gaze, and when he blinked them away, Evelyn was before him, inspecting her leggings critically.

"What-" he began, but when he pushed himself into a better position to see, he reddened to the roots of his hair.

"It will come out in the wash," she said, anticipating his apology. "All that's left to do is clean up."

She had washed her hands, pulled on a new set of clothes, and begun to change before he could even muster the will to move. Then she slipped her stained leggings over the swell of her ass, and he could not help but express his interest.

"Already?" she questioned, a glint in her eye. "Alright, then."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr: @bokutoma // @chellick
> 
> twitter: @deracinatin (i'm way more active here)


	10. draw your last breath, my friends

_"Remember the fire. You must pass Through it alone to be forged anew. Look! Look upon the light so you May lead others here through the darkness, Blade of the Faith!"_

_\- Exaltations 1:9_

* * *

Sebastian was floating on air.

Evelyn had been kind and she had been patient; he had cried after their first few rounds, and her hand had stroked through his hair as gently as a real lover's.

"Don't be ashamed," she had said, and it had been the first time he had heard her be truly, openly warm. "Some things have limits for a reason, but you do nothing wrong by taking pleasure that has been offered to you."

He had hiccuped, protested, tried to hide his face, but those hazel eyes had stared right through him, and she had smiled, close-lipped but gentle.

"You  _are,_ " she had said, slowly so it could sink in. "Allowed to be happy."

It had been a dream, one he was nowhere near ready to wake from.

It was simultaneously easier and harder to focus in meetings. Worry had dispelled itself from his mind, and Evelyn was rarely present, which helped, but still, he longed to be in her company, to feel the heat of her skin.

There were all but a couple days left until she had to depart for Halamshiral, and he wanted to make the most of them.

They were not lovers, he knew, not really, but he craved the way he felt lying next to her, whole and satisfied in a way he didn't think he had ever felt.

"The Chantry meant well," she had told him the night before last as she had dressed. "But there are criminals who require our attention,  _actual_ reformation efforts, and it's far easier to create a  _pure society,_ whatever that truly means, and regulate unnecessary parts of the average man's life rather than enact actual change."

He had protested something likely incoherent and sex-drunk on behalf of Elthina, but she had not swayed, and really, who was he to argue with her?

Especially when what he was saying was that which he had wanted to hear for so long.

He would go back to Starkhaven when she left as well; there was no point in lingering when there would be no meetings to be had or leaders to debate.

There was no delicate way to broach the subject of a possible return. There would only be one reason for it, now that most business was concluded. She had no obligations, and he had no reason, but he wanted...

And that was the crux of the problem, wasn't it? He  _wanted_ her, and though she must have known, they never addressed it directly, and he could still remember they way shame had made bile rise to the back of his throat when a Chantry mother had caught him talking to a lay sister before the seven days of isolation he had accrued as punishment were up.

He hadn't even  _done_ anything.

Maker, sometimes everything was just too much to bear.

* * *

She summoned him to her chambers that evening, and he could not recall the last time he had felt this way, light and giddy like a child.

"Is something troubling you?" she asked, mere minutes after he had come in. They had not done much, considering ; she had kissed him dizzy, and he had responded with fervor.

How she saw right through him was a mystery.

"It's a bit...ridiculous," he replied carefully. Probably best not to confess what a mess he'd made out of things.

"Sebastian." The stern tone of her voice sent a shiver down his spine, one he could not help but delight in. Her hand caught in his hair, gentle enough that it didn't sting, but firm enough that he let out an involuntary hiss. "You can tell me."

"There will be no reason for me to be here when you depart for Halamshiral, and even less when you come back."

"Ah," she said, as though he had told her all she needed to know. Perhaps he had.

"Do you think me...overconfident?"

She laughed at that, though he did not think it cruel in intention. "You have flaws, Sebastian, but overconfidence is not one I'd attribute to you."

"Then do I overstep my bounds?" He could not help the flicking of his eyes, searching her for the disgust he knew she should hold.

She sighed and reached out to him, pressing her thumb and forefinger against his lids to close them. "Calm yourself. You do no good if you're working yourself into a panic."

With his eyes closed, all he could feel was the warmth of her body and his own heartbeat.

"You are welcome back whenever you'd like," Evelyn said, and he could not tell whether that was a relief or something that twisted him up further. "We'll see how things turn out the next time you come to Skyhold, yes?"

When she kissed him, she tasted like fire.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> twitter: @deracinatin
> 
> tumblr: @chellick // @bokutoma
> 
> consider commissioning me! ya boi needs cash money to support the sugar friend lifestyle i've adopted


	11. what was golden and pure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> priorities shift

_They who are judged and found wanting Shall know forever the loss of the Maker's love. Only Our Lady shall weep for them._

_\- Threnodies 12:5_

* * *

In Blackwall's estimation, the empress had made a poor decision, inviting Evelyn to the Winter Palace. She far outshone everyone else who had even made the attempt.

Her gown was simple, but the rich purple of the luxurious material - satin or silk, he could never remember the difference - made her skin seem even warmer by comparison. He wasn't a man for poetry, never had been, but the way she looked tonight made him want to take it up.

Though all of her regular companions were here, waiting in the wings for a sign of Corypheus's plot, only her advisors, Dorian, Varric, and, by some miracle,  _him_ were actually enjoying the ball's splendors. He did not know why she had decided on him over someone more fit for the job; Cassandra was bred for this place even if she hated it as much as he did, and Bull had contacts here, not to mention admirers who craved anything large, foreign, and exciting.

Despite all of that, she had chosen  _him._

He wanted to hate that, wanted to loathe that she had made him come to this place, this den of asps that he knew all too well, the lair of the she-demon who was the reason he had made himself into a monster.

He couldn't.

Inquisitor Evelyn Trevelyan, Herald of fucking Andraste, was the reason he was here, and it was Inquisitor Evelyn Trevelyan that he was wholly, irrevocably in love with.

"Having fun, Blackwall?" a smooth, Orlesian voice said from beside him, and he nearly started before his instincts kicked in.

"I'd be having  _more_ fun if you weren't sneaking around eavesdropping," he retorted dryly. "Whole place gives me the fucking creeps."

"My, I didn't think you to be so delicate."

They stood in silence for a few moments more, stone-faced sentinels in a world gone rogue.

* * *

She danced with the devils like it was a part she was born to play, a deception she had been playing at for years, and in some ways, Blackwall was beginning to realize, she had. She was the daughter of a noble family whose lineage stretched the span of time, and every day, she had fought for status and privilege within Ostwick's circle. She was the woman who had gone from hated criminal of the holy to their leader.

Evelyn was one of the most important people in the world.

_What did that make him, then?_

He must have been a damned fool to think he could love her. Even now, she led the Grand Duchess Florianne in a dance that had not been invented when he attended such things, a dance she had not even known three days before.

To look at her, you would not know it.

She swept off the floor in a wave of deepest purple, and her hair, usually so neatly bound in an intricate braid and pinned to her head, flowed freely behind her in elegant curls. His stomach dropped as her eyes flickered around the room before settling on his, gaze flickering with heat and something else he couldn't quite name. A secretive smile brushed across her face, and she held his searching stare for a few more seconds than was perhaps strictly proper before another mask approached for an introduction.

_Fuck._

* * *

Not for the first time in his life, Blackwall was astounded at the callousness of the Orlesian court; an hour ago, the Grand Duchess has almost murdered Empress Celene in front of every important name in the country, and it had only been mere minutes since the Inquisition had officially put her down. Andraste's ass, even  _Sister Nightingale_ had gotten involved, taking post in forgotten eaves to pick off the men aiding Florianne from the walls. The Inquisitor had had a fucking  _arrow_ protruding from her stmach where it had pierced through the protective lining of her dress.

Still, the ungrateful bastards danced like they hadn't all been seconds away from death, and Evelyn was afforded little more than accolades and the dubious honor of favored guest.

Everything in him seethed to have her be so underappreciated, and it must have shown, because, almost an hour after their triumphant return, the Inquisitor was the first to approach him, pulling him aside to an unoccupied balcony.

"Not enjoying yourself?" she teased, her tone holding the same mockery as their spymaster's. From her, he found he didn't mind, not when her fingers brushed the lightest of touches against his arm. "You should revel in our victory. You don't want to be more of a spoilsport than the Commander."

Sure enough, Cullen was dancing with Lady Montilyet the younger, something halfway to laughter marking his face. "It's all...too much for me," he said instead.

"Oh?" Her brow arched in that way he always delighted in, something clever and fierce and altogether  _Evelyn._ "So you would not indulge me in a dance?"

"I did not say that, my lady." The words spilled out of him before he could even think about what he was saying, and though he wanted to curse himself for caving, he couldn't quite bring himself to care when she was giving him that rarest of smiles, small and genuine and just for him. "All you have to do is ask."

She dipped into a ridiculous curtsy, one even lower than the one she had given the empress, and reflexively, he checked to see what eyes were on them.

They were well and truly alone.

"Lord Blackwall," she purred, flicking her gaze to him through her lashes, coquettish and more playful than he had ever seen her. "May I have this dance?"

" _Evie,_ " he goraned.

When she kissed him, she tasted like home.

 


	12. a blight unbearable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> he finds out

_And as the black clouds came upon them, They looked at what pride had wrought, And despaired_

_\- Threnodies 7:10_

* * *

Sebastian did not know what to think of Halamshiral. He had involved himself in court gossip more than ever, and though he had heard dozens of accounts of the Herald's heroics, he had learned almost nothing of what she had done socially. The only gossip of note was that she had danced more than a couple times with her commander, something scandalous if they were not courting, but he knew Cullen, knew that Evelyn was only rescuing him from dancing with others while he fulfilled his obligations.

There was a period of time where no one could seem to account for her, however, and it itched at him, though he wasn't quite sure why.

_She did not belong to him._

Someone had to remind his cock of that.

As he rode back to Skyhold, ostensibly to be informed on what had happened with the Grand Duchess and renegotiate terms, there was only one thought that reigned supreme in his mind.

He needed to see Evelyn.

* * *

Halamshiral had not been half as bad as Blackwall had been expecting. The nobles had kept their distance, wary of a man with a Ferelden-Marcher hybrid accent who looked as though he had stumbled out of the Arbor Wilds and into formal attire, and the Inquisitor... _Maker,_ he had not dared to dream that Evie might have returned any of his affections.

Guilt gnawed at his stomach, but for the first time that he could remember since fleeing Orlais, he was happy. That night had been a dream, and even now, the remembrance of her brilliant smirk alone flustered him.

"And Prince Vael?" he had asked as she had leaned up to kiss his cheeks in the shadows of the balcony. "I thought you...had a dalliance with him?"

"Who?" she had murmured, and he had scarcely believed the drunken, half-lidded look she was giving him in the moonlight, like she was intoxicated by  _him,_ of all people. "I don't seem to recall anyone by that name."

"Evelyn," he had tried to say, but it had been incredibly hard to focus when she looked at him like she wanted them to devour each other.

"You know the difference between the two of you, my love," she had said. "And if that will make you happy, then I am all too pleased to oblige."

She had been a forbidden temptation there in the darkness, plum and chestnut and soft petal lips, and Blackwall had figured that if he was damned to the Void anyway, he might as well make the most of it.

When his tongue had parted the fraying seam of her lips, she had tasted like spiced Antivan mead and vintage Val Chevin wine, and he hadn't been able to stop himself from drinking deeply.

"Evie," he had murmured, and for all of her posturing and games, he knew she could not fake the way that nickname made her light up and press against him further.

Besides, she had never played those games with him.

"Will he cause a fuss?"

" _Damn_ him," she had said, and if she had kissed any further questions away, then he had not made any move to stop her.

* * *

The cold, austere aura of Skyhold once again gripped Sebastian as his party approached. All that time ago, so long that it felt as though it could have been a ywar, he had been wary, cautious, certain that the Inquisitor, a mage and a heretic, would bring about their end. He had feared her.

How wrong he had been.

When he dismounted, Sister Nightingale was waiting for him, wearing the same secretive smile he had begun to associate with her whenever she deigned to make an appearance, like she knew ten different ways to end you and a hundred things you didn't.

Then again, he supposed, that  _was_ her job.

"Good afternoon, Sister," he greeted cordially, nodding his head. "How do you fare?"

"We are all quite well," she said, and her small smile widened into an uncaring grin. She must have done it on purpose; he knew she had far more control over her expression than to allow an error that grievous in nature. "But you must be exhausted. Please, let me show you to your room."

As they passed various members of the Inquisition in the halls, Sebastian began to feel haunted by the notion that something was off. Varric, normally a permanent fireside fixture, was missing, and the mirthless apostate, Solas, looked to be fighting off a laugh when they passed him in his rotunda. Dorian clucked in what could either have been disgust or mock sympathy in the halls, and the Iron Bull, who was with him, gave him the same bone-chilling friendliness as always.

Sebastian had the increasing feeling that he was walking into a trap of some sort.

"Is the Herald occupied at the moment?" he asked, wanting to rid himself of this lingering fear. "I really ought to pay my respects."

"I am afraid that the Lady Inquisitor is tied up with diplomatic matters at the moment, Your Highness," Sister Nightingale replied smoothly. If she noted his mounting anxiety, as she must have, she said nothing. "I'm afraid there is still much to do after the Winter Palace."

"Of course," he said, but his nerves would not be quelled that easily. "Have you any idea when we might meet, as discussed earlier?"

"We could not anticipate when you would arrive, so it may take some time, but Lady Montilyet will contact you as soon as we have any idea. Until then, welcome back to Skyhold, Your Highness."

* * *

It took several days before a meeting could be scheduled; normally, he would have been overjoyed at the delay - any excuse to linger here longer - but he had not even managed to  _spot_ Evelyn since his arrival. He had even seen Blackwall more than a few times, and that damnable shadow did not even pay enough attention to him to scowl at him as he usually did.

His only two solaces came in forms both expected and out of the ordinary. Whenever Lady Montilyet could spare the time, she would regale him with entertaining stories in hopes of taking his mind off of his wait, and, when he was particularly low, she even pulled out a few stories of the mishaps the court of Starkhaven suffered under Goran.

Still, the days were long. Fortunately, that was where Dorian Pavus came in.

He was a surprisingly charming conversationalist, and with his witty asides and intimate knowledge of everything happening in Skyhold, the Tevinter made time pass like a breeze.

Regardless, he missed Evelyn.

"What is the Herald doing lately?" he asked Dorian on the sixth day. The other man had come to take tea with him, but at his question, most traces of friendliness gone, replaced with an odd mixture of scorn and pity.

"Let's keep out conversation light, shall we?" As Sebastian began to protest, Dorian waved him off. "Don't lie. You're rather obvious. Frankly, it's kind of adorable. Still, I'd prefer not to get in a spat, and there's not really a reason for you to be asking after her in particular, is there?"

So Sebastian resigned himself to the waiting game.

FInally, after eight days of silence, Lady Montilyet called him personally to let him know that Evelyn was available. Every other official meeting had already happened; whether by design or coincidence, she would meet him as late as possible.

He wore a warm smile as he entered the rooms in Skyhold that she and her advisers had converted into offices, but when he did, he found it unreciprocated, but for a quick nod and a possible accidental twitch of her mouth.

The entire meeting went that way. Any attempt he made at familiarity, regardless of how small, was immediately rebuffed. Though everyone was polite, cordial, it felt like a slap in the face to be sitting across the room from the woman he admired above all else and have her feel nothing.

The meeting concluded, but he could stay silent no longer.

"My lady Herald," he called. She had been the last to leave the room; now she paused and turned, lifting that ever familiar eyebrow in question. "I need to speak with you."

Her expression was calm, placid, and completely at odds with the turmoil in his chest. "What can I help you with, Sebastian?"

The knot in his stomach loosened at her use of his given name. She hadn't called him that at all during the meeting, sticking to  _Prince Vael_ and  _Your Highness,_ though he could see the reason for the formality now that he was thinking clearly.

"We have not had the chance to speak since I've arrived." His voice was far more tentative than he would have liked, subtle and shy.

"Was that not the point of this meeting?"

He recoiled as though stung; surely she must know what he meant? "I thought..."

Though her expression softened, her eyes were still distant and unreadable, and it was only then that he realized how little he truly knew her. "I'm a person, Sebastian," she said. "Surely you didn't believe such a pleasurable penance could last forever."

"Why?" he choked out.

She seemed unimpressed. "Why not? If you got attached to the comfort I provided, then that was hardly the point, was it? It's alright to take your pleasure when freely offered, I said. Now I rescind my willingness. I'm sure there are plenty of open arms in Starkhaven."

 _They are not you,_ he wanted to say. A knock sounded on the door before a bearded man slid through, and Sebastian would not have stopped the hot flash of anger and shame even if he had wanted to.

_Maker damn Blackwall._

"Evie," he said, and Sebastian stiffened as he saw Evelyn grow visibly more relaxed, her eyes losing some of the guardedness they always held. "I don't mean to rush you..."

"I understand. I'll be there in a moment." Her voice was soft, like a real lover's, and it struck him that he never really had her at all.

Blackwall left, and her smile, directed toward him, the remaining man with his heart at his feet, was close-lipped.

"We can be friends, Sebastian," she said. "But that was all we would have ever been."

Now he knew why the Chantry warned against the sins of the flesh; they were ruining him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> twitter: @ghostheirin
> 
> tumblr: @chellick // @bokutoma

**Author's Note:**

> chat me up on tumblr @chellick // @bokutoma for more sebastian angst and general character appreciation, and on twitter @deracinatin for shitposts of the thedosian variety
> 
> i also have commissions open!


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